


you killed my hope, thanks

by hearts_kun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Eating Disorders, M/M, Masturbation, Nausea, Self-Hatred, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_kun/pseuds/hearts_kun
Summary: There's a pause before Akira opens his mouth and says the words Goro had been waiting for so long. These are not pleasant words. They sting like bullets. But it's okay, because Goro never should have hoped for anything else.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Shido Masayoshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	you killed my hope, thanks

“I’m tired of saving you.”

Akira’s face is blank when he speaks. He’s not looking into Goro’s eyes, but rather just a little behind him. The wind is whistling in both their ears.

Goro scratches the back of his neck. Smiles. There’s a polite distance between him and Akira: three-four wide steps, ten breaths. Akira lowers his eyes and looks somewhere downwards, perhaps at his shoes.

“Please, don’t come here anymore. We’ve tried enough times already. I can’t help you.”

“Okay,” Goro nods.

They don’t talk much after that. Empty stares tracing each other’s clothes, avoiding eye contact. Goro decides to leave. He thinks he hears Akira sigh in relief behind his back.

He thinks about the gun at his apartment. He thinks about Shido’s shining bald head and about Akira’s nest of black curls twirling in chaos. Blood-soaked white collar, blood-soaked hair. Dark and heavy, it smells like iron.

The feeling of a cock in his ass, not painful but slightly unpleasant. The feeling of hopelessness, dirtiness, disgust—humiliation. Everything is rolling, spinning, merging into a single satisfied, “This is what I deserve.” Rough skin of Shido’s hand hitting Goro. His legs, his back. Himself, shaking and trying not to sob while bruises appear on his body.

The feeling of a mouth on his dick. Warm and soft. Pleasant, but almost boring. Akira’s gentle hands traveling across his hips, his ribs, caressing his nipples. “Try to enjoy it,” Akira says. _Try to love yourself,_ Akira means. Goro looks at a poster on the wall. He wants to pull Akira’s hair, yank him closer and fuck his throat. Akira doesn’t like it rough. “This is what I deserve,” — a chorus in Goro’s head.

On his way back home Goro can’t see the strangers on the subway staring at him. A celebrity, looking great as usual. He tries to keep his eyes open, but there’s barely anything in front of him except the handrail. Flashes of someone’s camera, of someone’s phone, they all reflect from the smooth surface, but Goro doesn’t see.

When he’s home, he lies down on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. Everything seems so natural, so well-expected. Everything Akira loves about him: cute smiles, witty comments, a good taste in coffee, — skills, not his personality. Every salvation Akira has offered to him has always been about being a different person.

Goro is Goro. Goro is the person who fucks his own father, who likes being humiliated, who hates himself like no one else ever will. Goro is the person who owns a gun to kill his loved ones. Goro is the person throwing up at night because he hasn’t eaten all day. Goro is the person lying down on his bed and staring at the ceiling mindlessly because he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s only natural. Goro loves Akira’s messy hair. Goro loves Akira’s laughter and sincerity. Goro loves Akira’s savior complex, too. He even loves being unsaveable and hopeless, in some sick kind of way. Eventual disposal is just a part of how things must be. Of how he loves it.

He thinks sometimes that maybe he could have gone a different path. He imagines holding Akira’s hand in public places, having a private instagram account, owning a dog, and calling his gentle adoptive mom when staying out late. He thinks of the small rainbow sticker on Akira’s wall and imagines a flag hanging on his own. It’s a sweet, tooth-aching fantasy, and it feels wrong. It feels painful: so beautiful and idealized, yet so destructive of everything Goro is. Akira would be so happy. Goro would be so nowhere.

Goro loves Akira, but he never expects Akira to stay. Goro loves Akira, but he hates Akira’s dreams. He really doesn’t have to kill him just for that alone, but that’s better for the plan. It’s only natural. Murder those who took your hope. Murder those you love most. Use them to exact your revenge. Ultimately: self-destruct. There’s a good reason you need a gun.

Shido doesn’t send him any messages that night. Goro doesn’t eat a thing, and his stomach turns acid up and down his throat. Goro craves contact and roughness, but nothing comes for him, not even as he puts the barrel to his temple and touches himself. His sperm mixes into similar sticky stains on the sheets, and Goro barely undresses before falling into an anxious sleep.

All of this is just what he deserves.


End file.
